“Dad, you should have told me,” he says with mischievous delight. “Holy moly.”
“Blame your mother. It was her idea, me bringing a date.”
“Well, good for her. Good for you. Boys,” he calls, “come say hello to your grandfather.”
They break away from their game and trot toward him. Logan kneels to gather their small, warm bodies in his arms.
“Did you bring us presents?” Cam asks, beaming.
“Of course I did.”
“Come play with us,” Noa begs, tugging at his hand.
Race rolls his eyes. “Boys, let your grandfather catch his breath.”
Logan glances past his grandsons and sees that Nessa has already joined the children. “What, do I look too old?” He smiles at the boys. He is full of memories of other parties, when Race was small. “What are the rules?”
“You freeze when you get tagged,” Noa explains, wide-eyed. It is as if he is announcing a discovery that will change the fate of mankind. “When everybody freezes, you win.”
“Show me the way,” he says.
The party roars forward, riding the children’s energy, which seems inexhaustible, an engine that can’t run down. Logan allows himself to be tagged as quickly as possible, though Nessa does not, dodging and weaving until, with a shriek, she succumbs. A pair of ponies arrive by trailer, swaybacked and balding, like moth-eaten clothes. They are so docile they seem drugged; the man in charge looks like he slept under a bridge. Never mind: the children are thrilled. Cam and Noa take the first rides, while the rest form a line to wait their turns.
“Having a good time?” Logan, approaching Nessa from the side, hands her a glass of wine. Her brow is damp with perspiration. Parents are snapping pictures, hoisting their children onto the backs of the mangy ponies.
“Loads,” she says with a smile.
“Fun comes so naturally to them. Children, I mean.”
Nessa sips the wine. “Your daughter-in-law is adorable. She told me about their plans.”
“You approve?”
“Approve? I think it’s marvelous. You must be thrilled for them.”
Is it simply the mood of the afternoon that he suddenly feels this way? Not thrilled, perhaps, but certainly more comfortable with the notion. Yes, why not, he thinks. A vineyard in the country. Open spaces, cool, moist dawns, a night sky exploding with stars. Who wouldn’t want that?
“And you can keep the land in the family,” Nessa goes on. She lifts her glass in a little toast. “A bit of history, no? Sounds to me like that would be right up your alley.”
The great ceremony comes: the presents are unwrapped. The boys barely acknowledge each one before tearing into the next. Hamburgers and hot dogs, chips, strawberries and slices of melon, cake. Among the children, heads begin to droop, minor disagreements flare, eyes grow heavy-lidded. As evening comes on, they make their departures while some of the adults linger, drinking on the patio. Everyone seems to acknowledge Nessa as an important new presence, especially Bettina, who in the gathering dusk gives Nessa a tour of her gardens.
By the time they leave, there are almost no cars out front. Nessa, exhausted and perhaps a little drunk, leans back in her seat as they pull away.
“You have a wonderful family,” she says sleepily.
It’s true, Logan thinks; he does. Even his ex-wife, who, despite their difficulties, has emerged at this late stage of life as an advocate for his happiness. Under the influence of the day he feels something long-clenched relaxing inside him. Life is not so bad, so purely dutiful, as he has thought. As they drive, his mind travels to the ranch. He has already spoken to his lawyer to set the paperwork in motion. Soon his son and his family will be there, infusing it with fresh life, fresh memories.
“I was thinking,” Logan begins, “perhaps I should drive out and have a look at the old place. I haven’t been there for years.”
Nessa nods dreamily. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Would you like to come? It would only be for a couple of days. Next weekend, say.”
Nessa’s eyes are closed. Another mistake; he has gotten ahead of himself. She is drunk; he is taking advantage of this moment of warm feeling. Perhaps she has fallen asleep.
“It could be useful to you,” he offers quickly. “Another article, perhaps.”
“An article,” Nessa repeats neutrally. Another moment lapses. “So, just to be clear, you’re asking me to go away with you for the weekend to help me write an article.”
“Yes, I suppose. If that’s what you want.”